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 Apr 2017
spysgrandson
with moonlight, he travels mostly
at night, past snoring hikers and embers
of fires that cooked their food, kept darkness
at bay, and heard what they had to say

if the coals could only speak, perhaps
he would find the right circle of stones,
a black heap of carbon that once glowed
red and gold, and her tale would be told

at least he would know the last words
she spoke in this wilderness--whether she
chose to vanish into the deep wood, fodder
for the scavengers

or was the prey of evil men,
who lurk at every turn--in bustling city
and quiet forest as well--vipers who strike
without warning, without curse or cause

when the moon's light wanes, he moves yet
in darkness, feeling his way, a nocturnal detective,
hoping to find what the others have given up
for lost and registered among the dead:

sign or scent of her--black coals or white bones,
a piece of tattered clothing, the canvas backpack
with her name, the hiking boots he laced for her
which left tracks he forever yearns to find...
"Inspired" by the brutal ****** of a couple on the Appalachian Trail in the mid '80s. In this case, the forlorn searcher has lost a lover, daughter or someone he wanders in the darkness to find.
 Apr 2017
Gidgette
I drown in the careless glow of the moon
He bares me an eternal wink
And I sink
in the forever fading,
blue velvet sky
Grasping for the faintest hope of
Reality
The sins I cling to,
make the stars gasp
My face burried in White skirts
As I have the strange tendency
to wear white chiffon
To funerals
The plump moon lights up my room.

My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream

the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
alone
recounting a new beginning
from the end.
 Apr 2017
ryn
We all look up to the same sun.
To the same moon we confide.
We all look at them the same...
Hoping for the light of day...
Wishing for peace at night.

Unfortunately...
It seems that they are not just.
For their light is selective.
It is not available to those
heavily shrouded in the dark,
drenched in tears.
It seemingly favour those
who'd shamelessly croon for their boon.
Miscreants who shirk
their responsibilities and fears.

I beg you...
Guardian of day and sentinel in twilight.
May your arms be kind and fastidious.
May your reach be deliberate,
purposeful and extensive.
Find those who cry but without voice.
Cradle those who've made decisions
without the luxury of choice.
Shed some love so they could see
past their laboured breaths in mud.
Raise them to their feet
so that they might
have a fighting chance to live.
 Apr 2017
ryn
This feeling I can't describe...

It's jarring emptiness
though I'm bloated full.
It's like a puncture,
though there's no stake.
It's overwhelming heaviness,
though there's no load.
Like a scab that won't heal,
though there's no wound.
It's confusion...
though, my mind's a blank.
It's me reaching out,
though there's nothing to tell.

This feeling I can't describe...
A curse to which there are no words.
A burden that I foresee spilling
over several dawns.
 Apr 2017
Xan Abyss
Panasoffkee, Florida
Dressed in green and gold
Strangled with a 36 belt
Her corpse a whole month old

Rotting beneath the water
Nobody knew her body
Paul John Knowles
Was out on parole,
Could he be the killer at fault here?

Who was Miss Panasoffkee?
What happened to Constantina?
Found submerged in a river
Nameless and missing forever

Could she be an escapee, a runaway from Greece?
Fleeing her cruel husband as a romantic refugee?
Perhaps the world will never know
Perhaps we'll never see
Who the real identity may be
of Miss Lake Panasoffkee
Based on a 40+ year old cold case.
 Apr 2017
Stephen E Yocum
I turned away for what seemed a brief bit of time,
Life got in the way, work, family, other joys.
When I returned to my sweet friends on HP
nothing much looked the same, unfamiliar,
even strange.

Then there are all those unknown names,
Talented folks among them for sure,
but too many to count and begin to know.
Lonely alienation disconnect,
Like transferring to a new school in your, Senior year.

Change they say is a good thing,
even inevitable, most of the time,
But, where is that old loved gang of mine?
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